


In the dirt

by Valinde (Valyria)



Series: Ten Trope Prompts [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fallen Castiel, M/M, Pining, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel does his brother one last favour.<br/><em></em><br/>“I’m not gonna make any damn deal,” Dean hissed.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Gabriel hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. I scoped out the lay of the land so to speak, and boy do you make some shitty life decisions kid.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	In the dirt

Dean knew the score, he’d played this game before. One minute he’d been in a motel carpark, the next a short dickish Archangel had prodded him in the middle of the forehead and his stomach had folded up inside him like origami or something and now he was here... Or rather _when._

There was no outward sign that he’d been Dr Who’d, but Gabriel’s “Time for a glance at the cheat sheet Deano,” had been kind of obvious.

So Dean wasn’t scared, just annoyed more than anything. He was supposed to be grabbing some dinner for him and Sam, not being dicked around by bored angels. And sure Gabriel wouldn’t be angling for the same horror show end game as Zachariah had been the last time Dean had been dragged around like this, but it seemed to be more or less the same stupid idea. Some dick with wings flinging him into through time to drill some lesson or other into his thick human skull.

He just hoped whatever Gabriel wanted to ‘teach him’ was short and painless. Off the top of his head, nothing came to mind though.

The apocalypse was over. God had brought Gabriel and a whole spate of other boring looking angels in ugly businesswear back to life, Cas had been promoted, Lucifer was in timeout with Michael and Dean and Sam were back doing their thing, hunting vamps and ghosts and the more run-of-the-mill baddies. It made for a nice change of pace after years of demons and angels.

In short, everything was back to business as usual. Which was why Dean’s spontaneous visit from a sarcastic Archangel had come as something as a surprise, and why he honestly had no idea why he was standing in front of what looked to be Bobby’s house, with a few extra wrecks in the yard and a big yellow dog he didn’t recognize. Still, at least the dickbag had dropped him off somewhere he’d find an understanding ear.

Dean shook the lingering timewarp funk out of his limbs, swallowed back the hint of nausea - managing to keep the burger and fries he’d had for lunch down - and headed up the overgrown walk. “Bobby!” he yelled, raising an arm to thump against the peeling paint of the front door.

Except his fist, in fact his entire arm, passed straight through the wood like it was nothing.

“Whoa.”

So, okay, maybe this _wasn’t_ the same old game? Dean drew his hand out of the door gingerly and patted at himself. _He_ felt solid enough, real, but – he reached out to tap against a grimy window pane and watched as his fingers slid through the glass and faded curtain inside. He didn’t feel a thing.

“You made me a frigging ghost?” he muttered, knowing full well Gabriel was probably listening in, watching maybe - enjoying the show. “Asshole.”

Well, maybe he didn’t know exactly what was going on, but this wasn’t his first out of body experience. More like his third or fourth. Dean squared his shoulders and walked straight through the door and into Bobby’s house.

Not long could have passed – a few years maybe. Most of the furniture was unchanged and the same old collection of stained trucker hats and field jackets hung from the hooks near the door. Dean wandered through the house, wondering if he’d be able to get a message to Bobby without getting himself pumped full of rock salt or something. The place was empty, but eventually Dean heard voices, Bobby’s and Sam’s, out back and he made his ghostly way towards them, ignoring walls and furniture alike.

They were a ways from the house, out in the square of brown grass that might have been a garden when Karen Singer had been alive. Dean knew what he was seeing before he reached them. There was a pyre burning, a tall figure and a crooked one silhouetted by the flames. A hunter’s funeral. Maybe Gabriel had sent him forward to prevent someone’s death? That would be almost decent of him. Except by the time he got close enough to hear his brother’s labored breathing, he’d already figured out it was him getting barbequed.

“What the fuck Gabe?” he demanded spinning around to glare at nothing and everything. “You sick fuck! What is this, some Christmas Carol Scrooge shit?” No one answered. “Or do you just get your kicks out of being a colossal fucking asshole!?”

The angel didn’t deign to appear and defend himself, and so Dean was left to stand there and watch one of the most pathetic funerals he’d ever had the joy of witnessing. Bobby just sighed occasionally and swallowed loudly, shifting on his feet. Sam wiped at his face but didn’t say anything either, just stared at the flames. Every now and then they’d add more wood and kindling to the blaze. Human bodies took hours to burn down to ash and bones - Dean knew from experience.

The stink of it, gasoline and something rich like burned pork, was even more disgusting than usual since he knew it was _his_ meat roasting off his bones a few feet away.

“This is some seriously messed up shit,” he muttered, directing the words at the stars above. “Even for you Gabriel.”

Hours passed and Sam and Bobby retreated a little to sit on the hood of a nearby wreck to continue their vigil, leaving Dean alone sitting front and center for his own cremation. It was quiet though, and Dean could still make out their conversation, such as it was. A bare few sentences exchanged over the course of the evening.

“You tell him?” That was Bobby.

“Yeah.” That was Sam.

“This is messed up-” Sam again much later, voice cracking. “It shouldn’t have ended like this.”

“I know son, but it’s what he would have wanted.”

From the _scintillating_ conversation, Dean was able to surmise that he’d kept up the family tradition and died in some suitably dramatic Winchester fashion.

They let the pyre gutter down to coals before dawn, the body consumed by the flames, and went inside. Dean remained sitting on the frosted grass, glaring at the smoking ash and muttering darkly about Archangels and dickheads with wings. He was hungry and his butt was numb. He didn’t want to go inside though. Sam and Bobby had been putting on a united front out tending to Dean’s bonfire, but if he knew them they were probably inside drinking and talking about him, or else grieving in private. Things he had no desire to listen in on.

It was maybe 6 or 7 in the morning when a car pulled up and dragged Dean from revenge fantasies about Gabriel involving holy oil. Dean turned curiously, bored out of his skull. He didn’t recognize it, just some non-descript white sedan. For a moment he didn’t recognize the figure that got out of it either, mistook him for some hunter buddy of Bobby’s, but then he started walking and that movement was familiar, even if the hunch of the shoulders wasn’t.

“Cas,” he said, then louder, “Cas!”, calling out because Cas would be able to see him, able to send him back to his own time.

Except his friend didn’t so much as glance in his direction, just make a beeline for the pile of smoking ash sitting grey and silent in the middle of the dead grass, staring down at his feet.

And Dean realized how changed he was all of a sudden. His jaw was dark with a few days growth and his cheeks seemed sunken, like he’d gotten thinner. Not to mention he was wearing ratty jeans and a jacket that didn’t look much better.

He looked hungry and in need of a shower and a shave.

He looked human.

“Oh,” Dean said, and looked a little closer. Cas was looking rough. The sort of rough Dean might see in a mirror. He looked like a hunter. Dean didn’t know _why_ Castiel was human in this time, but better a hunter than a strung-out hippy he supposed. Maybe he’d decided to slum it down on earth for a while? Carved out his grace like Anna had?

There had been times when Dean had thought maybe Cas wanted to stay. He rarely saw him now the apocalypse had stalled, but when Dean or Sam were in a jam, if they prayed to him he’d turn up and get his smite on. No doubt he was busy doing angel stuff up in heaven, but when Dean prayed to him he’d come almost eagerly, help them hunt whatever they were chasing, linger for a while in the backseat of the Impala afterwards, or watch them down a few celebratory beers. Dean liked to think he enjoyed their _(his)_ company, that he liked spending time on earth.

The more he thought about, the less surprising it was to find Cas driving instead of flying. He’d chosen humanity before. Good for him if he wanted to trade in his wings for a soul and a conscience. He’d always been too good for the dicks upstairs. “Dicks like _Gabri-fucking-el,”_ Dean muttered.

He was so wrapped up in Cas’s unexpected humanity and his irritation at Gabriel, that for a minute Dean forgot all about the smoldering pile of ash and coals, forgot that he was squatting next to the remains of his own funeral pyre.

Cas passed right by him. Not more than two feet between the faded blue of his jeans and Dean’s face. Dean watched him. Cas walked straight into the ash and coals, stirring up clouds of grey dust and smoke and a thick char stink. For a long time he just stood there, his boots pale with ash as the kicked up curls of it settled back down around him.

Dean felt weirdly uncomfortable all of a sudden, in a way he hadn’t when he’d been essentially spying on Sam and Bobby mourning over him.

Even though he was human in this place, Cas would probably view the whole death thing very differently, could probably get one of his buddies to check in on Dean living out his greatest hits upstairs or whatever. To be honest, Dean had been expecting some zen levels of acceptance. Friends or not, he didn’t think his death would really mean much to an angel that was literally older than dirt. What was Dean in the scope of that? The years he’d know Cas, hell, his entire life, it was a blink of time so small there wasn’t even a name for it. Nothing.

The thought of his own insignificance had a tight feeling swelling in his chest that Sam and Bobby’s more palpable pain hadn’t evoked it him. Which was ridiculous, and embarrassing, cause Gabriel was no doubt watching. He looked up from the detailed inspection he’d been making of the frayed left cuff of his jacket and focused on Cas, more as a distraction than anything else.

He was still just standing there, like a sooty figure carved from stone. A fine dusting of ash had settled in his too-long hair, along his shoulders and in the creases of his clothes.

“You’re not s’posed to stand _in_ the damn thing Cas,” Dean said. “You’re meant to stand to the side and say your goodbyes or whatever.”

Castiel slumped suddenly to the ground like his legs had stopped working. He didn’t make a noise, didn’t move at all, just plonked his ass down in the middle of the coals and charred bits of bone and wood. Another cloud of ash swirled up around him, and by the time it cleared a little, Cas looked almost like one of those human statues, the people that painted themselves up. There was a fine layer of grey ash all over him.

“Jesus Christ Cas,” Dean muttered, embarrassed for his friend’s sake. He glanced back at the silent house, wondering when Sam would get up. He’d know how to deal with a depressed angel. Or former angel.

A coughing noise drew his attention back. Dean rolled his eyes. “I _said_ you weren’t meant to sit in the ash Cas. If you’re human that means you need to breathe just like-“

Cas wasn’t sitting in the ash like a serene hobo-Buddha anymore, he’d drawn his knees up and his bony hands were twisted in his hair. For an awful moment Dean thought he was _crying,_ but his voice when he spoke was quiet and low but steady. “Dean,” he said, sounding so honestly _sad_ that it was painful to listen to. “My friend.”

That was all. That was it.

Dean sat there, transfixed, but Castiel didn’t say anything else for a long, long time. The washed out pallor of the early morning brightened as the sun rose above the woods and Cas just sat there.

Dean actually got bored. Sitting at his graveside with a catatonic angel was depressing, but not all that interesting. He wondered why Gabriel had sent him here, to this particular morbid blip in history. Maybe Dean being dead had some bad domino effect later on down the line and the Archangel wanted him suitably scared and eager to prevent whatever happened to him.

“I never told you,” Cas said, breaking the silence. “But you must have known.”

He was staring down at the ash like it could hear him.

“I did everything you asked,” he continued mournfully. “I died for you. I lived for you.” He scraped up a handful of ash and char, twisting his fingers around it. “I fell for you.” His face twisted and to Dean’s horror he realized there were bright trails through the ash on his cheeks. Cas was crying. _“Dean,”_ he said, “What am I supposed to do now?” 

Dirty fingers pulled at his hair and Castiel pressed his face to his knees. “Tell me, tell me what to do Dean. Please? Please, I don’t know.” His voice rose, became desperate and pleading, but he wasn’t speaking English anymore, it was Enochian or something.

Dean sat there in shock as his friend had a complete fucking _breakdown_ , over him, apparently.

“Pathetic, isn’t?”

Gabriel was suddenly standing right next to Dean, looking down at Castiel, who was sobbing in the ash, clawing at it like he could reassemble Dean from his bones like he had once before.

“The _fuck is this!?”_ Dean hissed, rising to his feet to glare down at the Archangel. “This is some sick, twisted shit even for you!”

“I know, it’s pitiful,” he agreed, looking down at Cas again. “Castiel, God’s favorite son, rolling around in the dirt sniveling over _you._ ”

“He’s an _angel,”_ Dean said, trying to ignore the way Cas was murmuring his name over and over _._ “Shouldn’t he be better at dealing with this sort of shit than people? He knows where I am, he knows I’m fine!”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Who said you were _fine_ Deano?”

Dean frowned, caught off balance. “…What?”

“You teamed up with Crowley to take care of some demon related ‘issues’ and long story short, you’re smoke pal.”

“ _I sold my soul!?”_ Dean demanded in disbelief. “ _Again!?_ I wouldn’t do that!”

“Nope, didn’t sell it,” Gabriel said. “Messed it up with nasty demon juju. You couldn’t control it, you were hurting people. You knew Sam was working up to putting you down, but there was still a shred of humanity in you, so you stuck yourself with that nifty little pig-sticker of Ruby’s so baby bro didn’t have to and BLAMO! Sayonara Dean.”

Dean wasn’t an idiot, he could put together what Gabriel was telling him, but he needed to hear it spelled out for him just to wrap his head around it. “What are you saying?”

“You bit the big one,” Gabriel told him. “No soul - no heaven.”

Dean swallowed. “I’m in hell?” That sure explained why Cas was so upset. He’d already personally dragged Dean’s ass outta there once. He was probably actually gonna be pretty pissed once he got over his crying jag.

Gabriel shook his head. “No. You’re _dead_ Dean. Gone. Nothing.” He glanced towards Castiel. “You were pretty much a demon when you buried that knife in your guts. It burned you out. And my brother knows it. Knows there’s no power in heaven or hell that can bring back a soul that’s been destroyed.”

Dean tried to process the fact that he didn’t exist, not even as ghost or soul in heaven or whatever in this place. To his surprise he found he... didn’t really care. Before Hell he’d never believed in heaven. Having it pulled out from under his feet again didn’t rock him like it might have done. And if he’d really ended up some sort of _demon_ it was a good thing he’d nutted up and sorted that shit out so Sam didn’t have too.

“He’ll get over it,” Dean said, looking down at Cas. He was rocking now, whispering and sniffing and absolutely filthy.

“No _he won’t,”_ Gabriel huffed and then jabbed Dean in the middle of his forehead.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

Gabriel’s eyes flashed and his voice got smitey. “Listen!”

Dean rubbed at his head and sneered. He couldn’t hear anything, just the highway a few miles up the road and Cas having his mental breakdown.

_“dean dean please come back beloved please don’t leave me here alone you are my all you are my heart please don’t be gone my grace my light all for you please father have mercy you brought me back please don’t take him please give him back this life this body take it if he might live please this one thing I beg of you this one soul please don’t let him be gone please please-“_

“He’s been praying for _hours_ now,” Gabriel said. “Begging dad to give him his precious _Dean_ back.” He snorted. “He won’t though. The big guy went awol again right after Mike and Lucy got shoved in the slammer.”

Dean felt numb. The _pain,_ the _love_ he could feel in Cas’s words, it reminded him of that night he’d held Sam in Cold Oak. The helpless desperation as his one reason for living, his little brother, died in his arms. “Why are you showing me this?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Pity I guess. Morbid curiosity maybe.”

Dean walked away from him, away from Castiel and the awful things he was saying _(-beloved beloved dean dean-),_ away from the remains of his funeral pyre. Gabriel’s voice followed him. “He dies Dean! It was unnatural, the way he fell. It’s one thing to be reborn with no memory of being an angel, but Cas shoe-horned himself into that meatsuit before he took a swan dive. For you of course, so he could walk the earth with _you_. With you gone he won’t last the year. And then it’s upstairs, stuck in a human heaven with the memory of _you_ for all eternity. Sitting across from you in shitty diners and that ridiculous car of yours. Relieving every word you two morons ever exchanged, every look, every glance. But he’s not human. He’ll know it’s not real. He’ll know you’re gone. And that’s his _heaven_. Eternity with nothing but a ghost. Looking at you and never being able to touch. Talking and you never hearing.”

In the ringing silence Castiel’s voice found him once more; “- _please don’t leave me here-”_

And then Gabriel clicked his fingers and Dean was back in that carpark in Ohio with his keys in his hand and his stomach in knots.

 

According to his watch he’d been gone a grand total of 10 minutes. Give or take.

 

When he opened the hotel room Sam looked up from his laptop in confusion. “Where’s dinner?”

Dean ignored him and managed to make it to the cramped little bathroom before he lost the contents of his stomach. Bile mostly. And some fries that were disturbingly recognizable considering he’d eaten them the day before. Over the acid of his sick the burned smelled of ash seemed to hang over him like a fog. His fingernails were lined with it, in fact there was a dusting of the fine grey powder all over him.

He wanted to pretend what he’d just seen was fake, some sick joke Gabriel was playing on him, but the water when he washed his hands was sooty and he could taste ash in the back of his throat. When he looked up Sam was reflected in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe, frowning. “You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, just musta ate something,” Dean told him.

Sam raised an eyebrow skeptically. “You? Your stomach’s like lead. What did you eat? Roadkill?”

Dean just grunted and splashed cold water on his face.

“I’ll go grab dinner,” Sam said. “You probably don’t want anything anyway right?”

Another vague grunt was enough to satisfy him and then Sam was gone, the motel room door locked up behind him.

Dean stripped off and got into the shower. He used all the complimentary soap and bodywash, but eventually the ash was gone and all he could smell was cheap soap and the faint bleachy smell of motel bathroom.

Sam still wasn’t back so Dean just pulled on a t-shirt and boxers and crawled straight into bed. He felt sick. Maybe it was just a side effect of the trip back, Gabriel being extra douchey, but he had a feeling it had more to do with witnessing his own pathetic funeral and watching his Cas lose his shit.

That last part, that stuff about Cas’s not quite human soul stuck upstairs in some groundhog day loop forever, that couldn’t be true. Why would Cas fall if he knew he was gonna end up stuck up there alone? And where was his grace? Anna had swallowed hers and been all angeled up again, why wouldn’t that Cas of the future just do that?

None of it made any sense. It was probably just Gabriel’s idea of some hilarious joke. He _had_ murdered Dean a few hundred times just for kicks a few years back. This was more subtle, psychological torture, but it could easily just be a new twisted trick he was playing.

Dean lay there in the dark trying very hard not to think about what he’d seen, what he’d heard, but even though he could shut out Gabriel’s voice, he couldn’t get Castiel’s  out of his head. He kept hearing those terrible things he’d been saying, over and over, things _no one,_ least of all a goddamn _angel_ should ever say about Dean Winchester.

He sat up and just breathed for a moment, then pressed his hands together. He knew he didn’t really have to, that Cas would hear his prayers even if he was flipping him off instead of kneeling in prayer, but all of sudden he felt like he should. “Castiel?” he prayed. “Cas?”

He waited a moment then opened one eye to peer around the motel room before trying again. “Cas? You listening? Can you drop in for a sec?”

There was nothing though. No familiar fluttering, no sudden appearance of trenchcoated angel. No sign of Cas at all. And he… he _always_ answered. Whenever Dean prayed, he came. Sam’s were more hit and miss, but Dean’s never went ignored.

He tried again, and he was still sitting there a few minutes later, listening to the canned laugh track on the TV in the next room and worrying, when the muted trill of his phone reached his ears. He found it in the pile of ashy clothes he’d shucked in the bathroom, tucked safely in his jacket pocket. The screen told him he had two new messages and three missed calls. When he saw the name CAS across the screen instead of SAM or BOBBY, he let out a relieved sigh. He didn’t bother opening the messages, just called him straight back.

Cas answered before the second ring, like he’d been standing there staring at his phone and waiting for it to ring or something.

 _“Dean,”_ he said, sounding relieved.

“Cas man, what’s up? You stuck somewhere? Cause it wasn’t urgent, the praying thing - I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

 _“You prayed?”_ Cas asked, voice strange and tinny. _“I didn’t hear…”_ The line went silent for a moment _. “I didn’t hear,”_ he repeated sounding shocked.

“Are you okay?”

 _“I… require your assistance,”_ Cas told him. _“I am… human.”_

Dean’s stomach lurched and for a moment he thought he might be sick for the second time that evening. “You’re _what?”_ he asked.

 _“Human?”_ Cas replied, like maybe he wasn’t sure.

“Where are you?” Dean asked, pulling back the curtains and glancing outside to see if Sam was conveniently pulling up in the Impala. No such luck.

*

Cas was ten hours drive away. Sam was annoyed that he had to eat his salad and grilled chicken wrap in the car, but beyond a bit of quiet bitching when Dean’s speeding and erratic driving resulted in him getting globs of low-fat mayonnaise all over his shirt, didn’t complain too much.

They found Cas at a 24 hour truck stop, sitting inside nursing a cup of coffee. His phone, what looked like the FBI badge Dean gave him years back, a battered billfold and a neat stack of change were arranged next to the cup, like he’d emptied his pockets and lined up his worldly possessions. He looked exactly the same as always, trenchcoat and suit, messed up hair, skewed tie, but when the doors opened he turned expectantly and his face lit up in a huge, very human smile. The sort Dean had only ever seen on the stoner Cas of Zachariah’s zombie apocalypse head trip.

He stood when they approach and Sam pulled him into a hug, slapping his shoulder a few times.

Dean stood awkwardly off to one side.

“Hey Cas,” Sam said, “What happened?”

Cas pulled back and looked down at his hands. “I am… human,” he said, not sounding cut up about it, more amazed. When he looked up his eyes caught Dean’s and he smiled again. Then his stomach rumbled and he frowned and pressed a hand to his belly like he was offended.

Dean huffed. “Sounds like the human needs to eat something.”

Cas inhaled a burger and a plate of fries drowned in ketchup. He and Sam both seemed to find the whole ‘human’ thing funny, but Dean could feel the approach of some sort of melt-down on the horizon. Cas’s eyes started drooping as soon as he finished eating, the former angel dropping into his first food coma, so they headed out to find a motel. Not five minutes down the highway Cas was faceplanted against one of the rear windows, snoring.

“We should head to Bobby’s,” Sam suggested. “Grab some R & R and get Cas up to speed on… well…” He glanced in the rearview. “-everything.”

Dean grunted. Sam was right. Cas would need IDs and clothes and someone to explain things like breakfast and shoelaces and Bobby’s was the best place for some humanity 101. But Dean didn’t want to head back there, not so soon after his out-of-body experience. He wasn’t all that tired, could have gotten a decent start on the miles between them and Sioux Falls if he wanted to, but instead he pulled into the first likely looking motel he saw.

Cas only half woke up during the short walk from the backseat of the Impala to the bed nearest to the door. He immediately flopped forward onto the mattress, still fully dressed. Sam sniggered and then helped Dean pull off Cas’s sensible shoes and at least get him out of his coat and jacket. In his white shirt and business pants he looked like he should be going door to door selling bibles or something, not passed out in a seedy motel.

Sam claimed the other bed and conked out almost as quickly as Cas.

Dean was left with his brother and his best friend, both sleeping and apparently perfectly happy, and it hadn’t been for Gabriel’s intervention, he probably would have been pretty pleased himself. The idea of having Cas around permanently was nice. He and Sam didn’t have friends, didn’t have anyone save Bobby. Without that glimpse at the future, Dean would have taken Cas in like a stray. Taught him how to hunt and shark pool, how to make fake IDs and set up the occasional bit of credit fraud to keep the finances ticking over… And apparently that’s what he’d done. The last time. Or the first time? It was confusing trying to straighten it out in his head.

He needed a drink.

*

The beers in the cooler in the back of the Impala were sitting in tepid water instead of ice, but Dean cracked one open anyway and leaned back against the taillights. The bottle was half empty when the car rocked gently under extra weight. It wasn’t really a huge surprise to turn and find Gabriel perched there beside him.

“So what was that?” Dean asked. “Some kinda warning?”

“No ‘kinda’ about it,” Gabriel replied. “Don’t fuck this up Dean Winchester. It’s not every day an angel falls you know.”

Dean sighed. “So he did it on purpose?” He hadn’t had the strength to ask.

“Yep. Everyone upstairs is all a-tizzy. Last time anyone jumped was Anael, and before that… Mmmm not since Lucifer and The Fall.”

“So I won’t make any deal with Crowley,” Dean said. “I mean, Jesus, was I high?”

Gabriel shot him an unimpressed look. “Nope. Just your usual thick-headed, self-sacrificing self. And you were scared.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.  “Of what? This ‘demon situation’ you talked about?”

“No. Castiel loves you and that terrifies you. Even now you’re freaking out aren’t you Deano?”

Dean ignored him and took a gulp of his beer.

“That’s right. He’s an angel and he loves you. Chances are you’ll fuck it up, but I gotta believe you’re not such a selfish asshole that you’ll let him end up praying in the dirt again.”

“I’m not gonna make any damn deal,” Dean hissed.

Gabriel hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. I scoped out the lay of the land so to speak, and boy do you make some shitty life decisions kid.”

Dean glared and took another swig of his warm beer. It tasted terrible.

“I’m done trying to teach you anything Winchester,” Gabriel said. “This is it. My last bit of advice, and I’m only doing it cause I don’t want to see another one of my brothers locked up in a box for eternity.”

“What do you expect me to do? I can’t make Cas _happy_ or whatever _._ If he sticks around he’ll probably just end up dying horribly. If he wants to be human, he’d be better off on the other side of the planet to me.”

“There it is!” Gabriel crowed. “There’s the steaming pile of _horseshit_ you keep selling yourself!” He leaned closer and stabbed a finger into Dean’s chest, right over his tattoo. Around them the air seemed to get sort of tingly all of a sudden and Gabriel’s eyes seemed too bright for his face. “Listen up _dumbass_ , Castiel doesn’t want to be _human,_ he wants to be near _you._ ” At Dean’s mortified expression he rolled his eyes and poked him again, hard.

“He’s not some pining teenage girl! He doesn’t want to move to suburbs and buy a fucking golden retriever or something. He’s an _angel._ He _loves_ you and don’t get me wrong - if you wanted to march back in there and fuck his brains out he’d been ecstatic I’m sure, but you’re his _friend_ first and foremost.” Gabriel’s face softened, lost its righteous anger. “His brother-in-arms and all that jazz. You treat him like you treat that overgrown sasquatch of a brother of yours and Castiel will toddle off this mortal coil happily enough.”

“So he’s not… _in_ love with me?” Dean found himself asking, not sure if he was relieved or...

Gabriel scoffed. “Of _course_ he’s in love with you, but he didn’t fall in some sort misguided attempt to seduce you.”

“But I…”

“Let me break it down for you Dean. If you are too much of a pussy to admit you have it bad for Cassie, fine, but don’t you dare run him off and go get your soul burned to ash. If you want to spend the rest of your life exchanging longing looks with him and pretending it’s all ‘brotherly affection’ - that’s your delusion. But don’t you _dare_ leave him locked up alone upstairs.”

Before Dean could say anything, Gabriel was gone and Dean was alone again.

He tossed the beer in the trash and headed back inside. The light in the bathroom was on. Castiel was standing in front of the mirror, his mouth foamy and a tiny tube of complimentary toothpaste in his hand, his fingers smeared with white paste. His hair was flat on one side of his head where he’d been sleeping on it. He spat out a mouthful of foam and then rinsed his mouth. “I woke up and my mouth tasted... disgusting,” he told Dean.

There was a smear of white foam on his chin. Dean stepped forward and grabbed a hand towel to wipe it away. Castiel stared at him. “This is very strange,” he said quietly. “I am not used to seeing you like this.” He reached out a hand pressed his palm against Dean’s chest. He didn’t seem to realize he was getting toothpaste on him. “I can’t see your soul anymore. I didn’t think of that when I…”

“Carved out your grace and jumped ship?” Dean asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Cas snatched his hand back like he’d been burned and looked down, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

“Why would you do that Cas?” Dean asked, a part of him desperately hoping for some other explanation, despite all he’d seen and heard over the last crazy day and a half. Cas didn’t say anything though and Dean found himself stepping closer, pulling him into a loose hug like he might have given Sam when he was still a kid. “Tell me why Cas,” he mumbled.

“I… I suppose I wanted to be close to you,” Cas admitted very quietly, stiff and wary in Dean’s arms.

The words seemed to lift some heavy weight off Dean and he could breathe again. It seemed very simple all of a sudden. He pressed a kiss to Castiel’s cheek, then lower, against the stubble of his jaw, and then he found his lips and kissed him there too. Cas’s hands clutched at Dean’s jacket and he pressed himself closer, lips moving against Dean’s but hesitantly, like he was afraid he would be pushed away. His lips were warm and soft and he tasted of toothpaste.

“I’m here,” Dean told him, then kissed him again. “I’m not gonna leave you.”


End file.
